I'm Not Missing You
by dogstar-ebony
Summary: I don't miss you, just who you used to be. Bellatrix Lestrange was imprisoned for a horrific crime, but what happened before then? What was she like when she was just Bella Black?


**I'm Not Missing You**

You were always the difficult one, Bella. I can't remember a time you weren't insisting that one day you'd be great, one day everyone would know your name. You were nothing like me, or Cissy. I think it's partly because of Cissy that you fought so hard to be noticed, for your talents to be recognised. I remember the day she was born, though I was quite young. Mother folded back the blanket gently to reveal a tiny, exquisite face, and everyone exclaimed over her. She lifted her eyelids languidly to reveal enormous blue eyes, nothing like our own deep brown ones.

Her name became a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy, didn't it? But she was a beautiful child, almost angelic with those thick clouds of blonde hair, so different to the almost-sludge brown of my hair and the sleek blackness of your curls. Sometimes I think that's why you tried so hard, because right from her birth Narcissa was the golden child. She effortlessly overshadowed both of us, my awkward and clumsy ways no match for her grace and elegance. But you were elegant in your own way, Bella, darkly beautiful, though you could never see it. I doubt you can even now.

I read about the sentence in the _Prophet_ last week. It sounds stupid, ridiculous even, of me to admit it now, but it shocked me to read of what you had done. Perhaps some small part of me still believed you were my protective big sister, even though the last time you spoke to me was on my wedding day, to say goodbye and ask me one final time not to marry him.

I cried so much that day. It's the worst thing I've done, turning my back on my family for my husband, and the sight of all those empty seats on my side broke my heart. Ted has always assured me that I didn't turn my back on you all, that it was you who abandoned me. He's a good man, Bella. I wish the family would give him a chance. He takes care of me, he wipes my tears and, best of all, he loves me for exactly who I am, rather than who he wishes I was.

That has always been the problem with our family, Bella, and we never knew it. It's only now, now that I stand on the other side looking in, that I can see how wrong it all is, how wrong it's always been. I don't miss you, Bella. Isn't that an awful thing to say? My own sister, my beautiful big sister, incarcerated for the rest of her life, and I know that I won't miss you. I don't miss _you_, just who you used to be.

Even though I know the horrific things you're capable of, in some corner of my heart you will always be the girl who punched Morbius Entwick in my first year for stealing my hat in the common room and making me cry. The girl who always sneaked food from the dinner table, wrapped secretly in a napkin, to bring to me when I was banished to my bedroom in disgrace. The girl who cried with me when the baby bird we found in the snow outside and tried to nurse back to health died in the night.

When I discovered my pregnancy, I immediately wanted to speak to you. For six months I resisted, and each kick wrenched at my heart, as if my baby was accusing me. For six months I watched the flat dome of my belly curve, swollen with life, and at times I wanted to claw at my flesh, to tear this creature from myself, because what right did I have to create a family when I had so easily walked from the heart of my own? But when my daughter was born, every word I wanted to say was snatched from my mouth. Her vanilla skin was so pale it was almost translucent; I could see the delicate map of blue veins that cobwebbed her skin. When she wrapped her chubby starfish hand around my finger it felt as though she clutched at my heart, and her tuft of thick black hair framed her tiny face so that I laughed at this little monkey-child I had created.

I named her Nymphadora. Ted, bless his heart, campaigned hard for Sarah, but I insisted she be named Nymphadora, to remind myself that even though I was in exile I was still a Black. My daughter had other plans. When she was born she looked like a tiny, beautiful version of my husband, from her big blue eyes to her wispy black hair, but an hour later her eyes had become deep brown, her hair shockingly pink. Ted was frightened something terrible was happening until I explained she is a Metamorphmagus.

We became used to her talents, unusual as they were. It became comical, to watch her hair fade from blonde to red to blue and back again in a matter of seconds; to see her little nose pulse and melt to a squashed tomato shape, long and crooked, hooked, curved up at the end. It wasn't until three weeks later, when I stopped to pluck her from her crib, that I recoiled in shock to see her appearance. Her hair was as sleek and black as a raven's wing, erupting in soft curls around her little face; her eyes shone deep brown and even her skin tone had darkened slightly. She looked so much like you, Bella, that I simply sat on the floor beside her crib and cried softly, listening to her happy gurgles and squeaks.

You never replied to my letter. My owl came back three days after I sent it to you, folding itself neatly back into its cage in the middle of the night, and I knew then I would not speak to you, would not see you, would not hear your voice ever again. I missed you then, because in my heart I still held my sweet memories of you.

I'm not missing you, Bella. I won't write to you for as long as you are imprisoned. What you have done is unforgivable and the mere thought of it sticks in my throat awkwardly, that my own sister could be capable of such evil. And it is evil, Bella. Those people did nothing, to you or anyone else, and yet you tortured them so mercilessly that they too are doomed to spend the remainder of their unhappy lives incarcerated. You took a mother and father away from their young son, and all for glory. You got your childhood wish, Bella. No one will forget your name now.

I don't miss you. I have no feeling towards Bellatrix Lestrange. She is dead to me. I do not know her. But Bella Black? I miss her more than words can say. And foolishly, I hope that one day I will find her again.

**Authors Note: In case this was unclear it is Andromeda Black/Tonks reminiscing about her relationship with her sisters following the news of Bellatrix's imprisonment. I just thought I'd try something new as I've never written on any of these characters. Remember to review!**


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